


There is a Train

by Cur



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Night Terrors, Nightmares, PTSD, Triggers, Whump, post-musical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:25:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cur/pseuds/Cur
Summary: Donny isn't sure what time it is, or how much time has passed, or where he is. All he knows is that there's a grenade somewhere in the trench, and he needs to get the hell out.





	There is a Train

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I saw the pro-shot on both nights and became, rather instantly, obsessed with this show. I've always been involved in deepening character's wounds and flaws that the authors tend to leave out to protect themselves. In the case of Donny, it's easily said that he shows true depth and wounds. Since this fandom is starving, I figured I should leave in my two cents despite my horrid writing and such. I can probably easily write more for different characters and ships, so please do leave reviews to encourage me.

His fingers press into the keys with a certain aggression; it was difficult to play so intensely with the tremor he gave off, but he figured playing soothingly or gently wouldn't go quite as well. Ragged breathing starts to play over the intense and quick notes reaching his own ears. His foot hits the step beneath the keys, but it becomes a tick quickly, the incessant kicks ruining whatever beat his incoherent notes sounded.

Michael is looking down at him, his expression horribly and uncharacteristically emotionless. Donny does his best to ignore the figure, but once his finger hits the wrong note, all of his movements slide and gives in. His widened eyes go up to the figure hovering above him.

"Nova," he urges. "We have to  _go_ _!_ It's now or never. Grab a grenade. Follow me." The man lifts the grenade in his hand, jerks out the pin, and blindly chucks it over his head. There's a distant sound of an explosion and Donny involuntarily flinches and squeezes his eyes shut. " _Nova!_ I need you, man!"

Donny's on his hands and knees, shaking horribly as he grabs the grenade in his pouch. He pushes himself up slowly, breathing still ragged. His eyes go down to the grenade in his trembling hand. Bullets are flying above them, some hitting the wall of the trench just behind him. Rain slips down his face despite his helmet -- it's so heavy he has to squint to see and holler to be heard.

"There is a train," Michael informs Donny. He nods in familiarity of the statement. "There is a train..." Michael steadily holds another grenade, looking at his friend knowingly. "It leaves the station at a quarter after five." Gripping onto his friend's arm, the two exchange a long stare. Bullets fly by them, one lightly grazing Rico's arm. The man cusses loud enough for the J*ps to hear them. "C'mon. We have to make headway."

"There is a train," Donny mutters to himself as he falls down into the mud, the grenade nearly slipping out of his hand. "It leaves the station at a quarter after five." His voice is shaking, his body moving too quickly yet too slowly. He looks up at Michael, of whom looks horribly desperate and terrified. Naïvely, Donny believes firmly he'll be alright, despite the stench of death flooding all of their senses. After all, his friend is leading them with a certain confidence, whereas he was slumped in the mud and nearly slipping into a panic.

"And it's direct," the two say in sync.

" _Right,_ " the older agrees. "And where does it arrive?"

It's the dream-- _Their_ dream. Cleveland to New York on the first class train to the first class hotel, playing the piano and drums, and belting out lyrics. It comforts Donny -- gives him a goal, a reason to chuck the grenade at those who defied their dream. They'd make it. Rubber knew what he was doing, as he proved in his demands of cover. Again, he's yelling at Donny, demanding that he throws the grenade at the enemy.

"On my go," he shouts. He waits, and just as he parts his lips, a bullet skids against Donny's side. The grenade drops, so does the pin. There's little pain in his side -- but, God, he's bleeding, and he's shaking, but he reaches for the grenade to hastily eject it. Rubber's on his hands in knees searching for it, but his eyes keep going to the blood hitting the ground. It's hopeless. They needed to get out before they all blew up.

" ** _GET OUT!_** " His voice is atrociously shrill as he pulls himself out, watching as the others escape. Donny looks down at his wound as he gets up and runs away; Behind him, there's an explosion, and suddenly he's concerned for his friends. Rubber should be running ahead, slowing and calming the younger who feels himself fall down. It's as if the world slows down when he realizes--

" _Donny!"_

Reality hastily sets in. Julia's on her hands and knees -- rather a hand and knees, as her spare is gently resting on his shoulder. Donny's body slumps over as he presses a hand to his wound -- of which isn't there. He frowns; Hot tears make their way down his face, and his body is shaking like he had slept in below freezing weather. He isn't sure what time it is, where he is, or how much time passed. All he knows is Julia is crying and looking as helpless as ever. He still hasn't gotten a grip on himself, but in instants he's sitting up and gripping his pants to have something to tether him to reality.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I don't know what happened- I'm sorry, Julia, I- I didn't...I'm sorry. I'm  _sorry_."

A barely restrained sob escapes the female as she creeps closer to him. "Donny, it's okay. It's not your fault."

He shakes his head insistently. He's sobbing nearly maniacally, whimpering with each sob. "I-It is, I should've...I should've...I should....It should be me. It should've been me, no one would've given a damn. I killed--I killed Michael, I fucking...I  _mutilated_ him, Julia, I-" He stops short when her hands clasps her own mouth, and soon her sobs match the pace of his own. Donny knows she blames him. It  _was_ his fault, after all. Difference was, she moved on from it. She knew how to find closure, she knew how to unsee the horrible tale he had told her after she practically begged for it to be told. As she closes her eyes and frantically shakes her head, he wonders if it was all a lie to convince him and herself. Despite this, he continues (maybe the encourage her to shout at him, blame him,  _hate_ him). "I went back, Julia," he whispers. "I dug for whatever remains I could, but there was-- there was--"

"Donny,  _please,_ " she begs.

"There was  _nothing_ , but I clung-- I tried...Julia, I  _tried_ to find him, I tried to protect him from the rain...Julia, I  _tried_."

"I know, Donny, but please," she whispers. He can barely hear her, but he can clearly see the smeared mascara painting her face. She only wore some when they had an important concert, and by the looks of the window to his left, he had missed it. "Please...I want to help you, but--"

"But you can't," he finishes firmly. "And you  _shouldn't_. Don't you-- How are you so naïve? Julia, I-I...I  _killed_ him. I killed my best friend. I killed-"

She stands in a quick movement and stumbles back, as if the words are sickening her-- as if Donny were tearing her apart. Julia raises a hand towards him, presumably to further illustrate how desperate she was for the words to stop. "I know, darling. I..I know what you did, but you  _have_ to stop blaming yourself. I know my late husband, and you know your best friend; he never would have wanted you to be like this."

"I don't want to be either," he whispers. "I want it to be just like it was before. That's how it's supposed to be. Everything going back, but it didn't. I can't sleep without- without being like _this."_ He looks down at his hands, of which have lost most of their tremor. He wanted to play and belt his fucking heart out, not confess his insecurities with the one girl he didn't deserve to pour his soul to. Donny pauses and looks up at her, a defeated expression on his face. "I'm sorry I missed the show tonight."

"Donny-"

"No, there's - there's no excuses. Everyone's been through of a hell of a lot worse than me, and I'm the leader - the title of the band. I should've known better than to go to sleep before a show. I know what it does - like Johnny's pain pills." Donny stands and looks at her for a moment as she clutches her handbag almost in fear. It's his fault her shoulders stiffen whenever he shouts or gestures wildly. His behavior was irrational and uncontrollably most of the time, whereas everyone else seemed plenty predictable. He hated it. Before the war, he was young and charming, naïve and talented. Most of the time he was just talented, besides the time he doubted himself. Sometimes, when beyond stressed, he'd be incapable of playing the piano or remembering the lyrics. It got so bad Jimmy had to cancel rehearsals before one of the others killed him.

Sighing in defeat, he retired to the piano and began to play the gentle introduction of Julia's song. She sighed as well and approached, seeming to understand that  _this_ was the best - perhaps only - way to comfort him. Her voice trembles on the first note, but, as usual, it's soft and comforting.

"Once upon a time..."


End file.
